The Breath at the End of a Kiss
by xo going nowhere
Summary: The first time you kissed him, you swore it would be the last. [jommy one shot]


This is a pointless little drabble because I can't contain my love for jommy and thought it'd be fun to break into the Instant Star fanfic universe. It's dedicated, of course, to my beloved Manda, co-leader of the IS movement, because all those things come back to us, lol. This is also for my fellow lions and loved ones in the fanfic universe, if they happen to read this.

Disclaimer: This seems grossly unnecessary, but I obviously don't own anything.

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_**The Breath at the End of a Kiss**_

The first time you kissed him, you swore it would be the last.

You were fifteen, and it was entirely impulsive.

He was still Little Tommy Q in your mind then, and in some strange twist of fate, he'd jumped from the pages of a magazine to be right in front of you. It didn't feel entirely real. The most contact you'd ever had with him before was when you'd dart into Sadie's room to turn down the cheesy pop crap blaring from her stereo, and his grinning face would look back at you from above her bed. It was creepy, the way the poster's eyes seemed to follow you, but you'd only think about it for a second before you ran back into your room and collapsed on your bed, while Jamie babbled on about glam versus punk.

Unlike the poster, the Little Tommy Q you'd met scowled and made sarcastic remarks. Even more than that, he seemed to really know a thing or two about music. There's something about writing a song that makes it almost like falling in love, he told you. Now, you're absolutely convinced that he's right, because there's no way you were all crushed out on a BoyzAttack refugee. No way.

Still, there was something so sweet about the way he brushed off your awkward attempt at romance. You wanted to keep it sacred and secret, if only because of how embarrassingly wrong you were about the signals he was sending off. You only told Kat, because she's your best girl friend, and that's what you're supposed to do. Nobody else would ever know, because it was something to keep close to you. Aside from kissing Jamie after reading that article, it was your first kiss, and as fumbling and one-sided as it was, it was with a pin-up boy.

The second time, it was him who kissed you.

You were sixteen for all of eighteen hours, and what should've been one of the best days of your life had gone rapidly downhill.

It was a good few weeks after the mistake of you kissing him, and everything in your life seemed to have settled. He was your producer and edging up on Jamie in the "best friend" territory. Little Tommy Q had become Tom Quincy officially, but Tommy to you. You had a megastar boyfriend, who was taking a break from his world tour to come to your birthday party, thrown by your record label. Just a few months earlier, you hadn't had any of that, and you weren't sure if it was even legal to be this lucky.

So that night, with your hair all done up in curls, in a dress you adored, you were ready to take on the world. Just hours earlier you'd heard a very indirect statement from Tommy that basically verified that he'd be with you if he could, and while you told Kat that you still loved Shay and it didn't make a difference, it did. You know it did. She knows it did. But she didn't have proof and you didn't have a reason, so you were an "emotional adulteress", and that was that.

Then Eden swooped in, like the wicked witch she is. Why was it always that tan blondes were stealing everything out from under you? And suddenly, your entire birthday was ruined, and you wanted to be anywhere but there. The Shay/Eden affair quickly extinguished any glow from the conversation you overheard between Tommy and Kwest. All you wanted to do was go home and hide under your covers with a pint of ice cream and maybe some cookie dough. Yeah, definitely cookie dough.

It was your party though, and in an exceptionally cruel twist, you being sixteen prevented you from driving away. Canadian law officials should really rethink that. How exactly a teenage musician is supposed to run from her problems without a drivers license is beyond you. Instead, you hid out on the fire escape, where no one could find you.

No one except Tommy, that is.

For some reason, in the short time you'd known him, there had always been an instant connection. It didn't make much sense. The supercool boybander and his nerdy little prodigy shouldn't have had too much to bond over. Still, it was there, and it was powerful, and you didn't doubt that he knew you better than anyone. You weren't even scared by the fact, or how easily you'd accepted it, mainly because you knew it was mutual.

So it was there, on that fire escape, in the pouring rain, that you would get your first real kiss from Tom Quincy, at the tender (and illegal) age of sixteen. He was the one to start it, a fact that you would forever note when you replayed it in your mind. It did nothing to help you squash the little crush you'd been suppressing. Now you had more details of what it would be like to be his girlfriend to commit to memory.

It was your first real tastes of his mouth, a flavor that would immediately become one of your secret favorites, way up on the list, past even cinnamon and wintergreen. You knew that he had been a pop star, but his reputation had been far more rock and roll, so for some reason, you were expecting something wilder. In your mind, his lips would be chapped and bruising against your own, tasting of hard liquor and cigarettes. What you got instead was surprisingly soft, respectful even as his tongue prompted your lips apart.

That was the moment you fell in love with Tom Quincy, Little Tommy Q, whoever he was. Even if you didn't realize it.

He kissed you twice, and you didn't push at all. You gave him time to change his mind, to run away, because as far as you were concerned, it was one of those dreams you have ever so often, and that it would all vanish in a second. And later that night, he would tell you that you would have to forget it happened, or else you'd have to stop working together. It was the suckiest of ultimatums.

That was the moment Tom Quincy broke your heart. It was Tom Quincy's doing, not Little Tommy Q's. Little Tommy Q was just a public image, a scandalous persona, a poster on your sister's wall. Tom Quincy is a real man, all flesh and blood and toned muscles, which had held your heart in his hand and promptly returned it.

You hated him for that. Even more, you hated yourself, because dammit, you still couldn't hate him.

The third kiss was best in your opinion.

It was the only time to date that hasn't ended completely horribly. You were seventeen, and he was still your Tommy, even if his mystery last night wasn't really Quincy.

This time it seemed more mutual. You both edged in, his arms were wrapped as tightly around you as yours were around him. It was the least hesitant of all, and you thought for a moment or two that he could swallow you whole at that moment. And that would be perfectly okay with you.

You broke the kiss that time, unwilling to let him tear himself away once more. He didn't look even vaguely apologetic though, and it made your heart do little back flips that couldn't possibly be good for your circulation.

There was an undeniable pattern for your mutual kisses. He would start them, and you would be the one to walk away. In between, there would be stolen moment of passion that nobody would ever know about. This time though, when you walked away, the tears were far from your eyes. It was more a happy bewilderment, and for once, he was the one left reeling.

Its three kisses in three years. Not an astonishing record by anyone's counting, but you can't help thinking that they mean more than any other kisses every have. Even though he just disappeared on you, without even an explanation to set you at ease, you can't help but feel like he's your One.

Writing a song is like falling in love, and there's only one boy who can make you do both. If that doesn't mean something, you don't know what does. So until he comes back, you can just replay those three little kisses in your mind, along with years' worth of hugs and playing and touching words and hair stroking. It's not ideal, but it's all you've got. And when he comes back, you'll make him grovel for a while, but you'll take him back. You and Tommy are meant to be together, and everyone can see it.

Even him.

Even you.


End file.
